


Loss

by sally_sparrow



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:25:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sally_sparrow/pseuds/sally_sparrow
Summary: AU in which Eliot is kicked out of Brakebills, and Quentin visits him. And the beast doesn’t exist, because fuck that loser.also please applaud me for not naming this fic loss.jpg





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldfiredragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon/gifts).



> soooo, this was for coldfiredragon for he magicians halloween trick or treat thing. he’s it is november. chronic pain is a bitch. sorry love. hope you like it!

Eliot was gone.

_“They might kick me out,” Eliot had said._

Margo was inconsolable. She hadn’t left her room in days.

_“Shit, I’m sorry. But, it could be worse right? You can just learn magic somewhere else. It’ll be okay,” Quentin had replied._

The cottage felt lifeless. There were still parties, but they felt… off. Wrong somehow.

_“No, Q. They’ll wipe my memory. I won’t even know that magic exists.” Eliot had said._

The campus felt bigger. Emptier.

_“T-then I’ll visit you,” Quentin decided. “I’ll find you, a-and I won’t tell you that magic is real, but I’ll talk to you and keep in touch with you,”_

So Quentin went looking.

_Eliot smiled. “Promise?”_

Not because Eliot would remember their promise.

_“Promise.”_

But because couldn’t live with himself if he broke it.

 

A party. Of course Eliot was at a party. Why was he surprised. It was far too loud, and people kept bumping into him, and it smelled like sweat and smoke, and…

There was Eliot. Making drinks. The dim purple light cast shadows on his face, his hair was wild, he was in tight jeans and a loose shirt.

In that moment, he looked more magical than Quentin could ever hope to be.

Quentin pushed his way through to him. “Hey,” he said over the music.

Eliot smirked. “Hey.”

“Wanna go into that bedroom together?” Quentin said, aiming for smooth and confident. It was neither. Eliot let out a short laugh.

“Listen, I’m not gonna be part of anybody’s sexual experimentation. Been there, done that. Besides, I think that room’s occupied by two drunk philosophy majors.” Eliot started to turn away.

“I’m not straight,” Quentin blurted out. “And there are a lot of other rooms in the world.” Eliot raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Eliot said. He grabbed Quentin’s hand, leading him through the crowd into the bedroom Quentin had seen earlier.

“Where are the drunk philosophy majors?” Quentin asked, smirking.

“Hmm, perhaps I lied.” Eliot said, lounging on the bed. “Though, I am a philosophy major, and I am drunk, so maybe I’m one of them,”

“Philosophy huh?” Quentin asked. He walked over to him. “So you contemplate the questions of the universe?”

“Yes, but not always so existential. Like right now I’m contemplating if you should suck me off,” Eliot smirked. Quentin blushed.

“Look at you.” He pulled Quentin closer  
by the hem of his shirt so they were almost touching. “A repressed super nerd, embarrassed by the mention of sex that he wanted in the first place,” he whispered.

Quentin leaned in and kissed him.

It was nothing like the first time. The first time, they had been drunk off their asses and Margo had been there. It was too hazy, too much to focus on, too much to remember.

This time Quentin was sober, and Eliot was more sober than he had been at Brakebills. This was, at least on some level, planned. It was much, much better.

They, through some miracle of physics or Aphrodite or something, ended up undressed and fully on the bed.

Eliot was beautiful. Quentin explored his body so he could remember it perfectly.

Quentin missed him.

He hadn’t realized truly how much. He missed his humor and confidence and grace and magic. He missed the way that he lounged on the couch, his legs taking up the whole thing. He missed the sarcastic comments and snap judgements. His missed seeing his messy hair in the morning, free of products. He just missed _Eliot_.

After that night, Quentin never went looking again. It hurt too much. He let the memories fade and the pain dull.

He had only kept half of their promise. Eventually, the guilt overshadowed the loss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is less focused on the sex then I would usually do, because this is more about Quentin, and the nostalgia of loss. But hopefully it’s still good!


End file.
